A Time For Everything
by Elise Davidson
Summary: Everything always took time, but, then again, with parents like Richard and Emily, it always did. A fic about Lorelai and her memories through out the years since Rory's birth.


Author's Notes: I kind of wrote this to prove to readers/reviewers/whoever that I'm capable of writing Lorelai in a positive light, but also to prove that writers aren't necessarily altruistic. Yes, we have our favorite pairings, and sometimes we write characters badly to make our pairing happen, but at the end of the day, we're all human.

So, this is dedicated to fairness in fandom and writing, in the sincerest interpretation of the words. Liking one pairing doesn't mean destroying others.

XXXXX

 _1984_

Lorelai held Rory tight to her chest, bundled under her thick blankets on her bed at home. She had tried to see if her mother would at least let her sleep downstairs, given that she had…you know, _just given birth_ , but Emily, as always, pointed strictly upstairs with a sharp stare at the orderly that she had somehow _paid_ to come to their house and help get Lorelai settled.

Rory's face screwed up in sleep, but relaxed almost immediately. Lorelai traced a finger over the wrinkly cheek. Three days after giving birth, and Rory still looked a little like a goblin that occasionally made Lorelai call out for David Bowie.

Emily breezed into the room, opening the windows and drawing back the curtains. "Christopher is coming today. He wanted to be here when you arrived, but he and your father are discussing opportunities that would also allow him to still attend school and…well, after." She turned with a too-bright smile, the steely nature in her eyes reminding Lorelai of exactly what she was ignoring. "And how's our little Lorelai?"

"Rory," Lorelai said stubbornly, pulling the baby closer and feeling her squirm in protest, "Is doing just fine. She's sleeping; I've got her."

"She's not hungry? Or need changing?" Emily prodded, coming to settle on the bed beside of Lorelai, drawing back in hurt when Lorelai jerked away.

"She's _fine_ , Mom," Lorelai bit out. "I just want some time alone with her. I promise, she's sleeping."

Emily seemed to struggle for a moment before clasping her hands over her lap and rising to her feet. "Well, if you're sure. You've never had a baby before; are you certain?"

"She's mine and I think I know her," Lorelai retorted, some of the smartness of her tone leaving as she stared at her daughter. "And Chris doesn't have to come by; we both know he's probably as freaked out about it as you are."

Emily stiffened as the hurt increased on her face before she shielded it too quickly for Lorelai to call her out on it. "As you wish then, Lorelai. I just thought you might like some company or to let her meet her father. Call if you need anything; a nurse will be up to help you feed her later."

"I don't need help feeding her!" Lorelai yelled, but Emily had already shut the door. She sighed in frustration, tears leaking out of her eyes both from anger and hormones.

Rory immediately started wriggling again, staring up at her mother with impossibly huge, blue-gray eyes. They were the sort of color that held little indication of what the actual eye color would be, but the lip quiver was unmistakable.

Lorelai hushed her. "I'm sorry, Rory; I promise, I'm not mad," she cooed, bouncing her gently. She let out her breath again, leaning back against the pillows and stroking the tiny hand of her daughter. "You know, Rory…one day, when we can…it'll be just you and me. No Emily, no Richard…just you and me." She looked at her door with veiled hope though her hands trembled in fear of the feeling. "Maybe Chris."

Rory blinked at her.

"Yeah, kiddo. I know."

XXXXX

 _1991_

The music was soft and carried on the breeze to their little home outside of the inn. The Japanese lanterns made for soft stars dotting the trees, and candles in various colored pastel bags drifted lazily on the pond. The sounds of raucous laughter and faint steps of dancing made an undercurrent of joy beneath the music. Roast beef and expensive cake completed the round of senses, right down to the feel of wet grass beneath Lorelai's toes.

She sat on the steps leading into their little house with Rory securely on the step beneath her, leaned on her knee and dragging a finger over the worn knee of Lorelai's jeans, though it was more for the tactile feel of it than affection. She was quiet in a near-doze against Lorelai's leg.

With a smile, Lorelai leaned against the rickety rail of the stairs. They still didn't have much money—she was wearing one of the few pairs of jeans that hadn't fallen apart since she had left, and the shirt was one of a bunch folded into a white, plastic hamper that Mia had given her. Mia had waved her off when Lorelai insisted she at least go through the things—mostly to see what she needed or wanted so that Mia could donate the rest if she liked, and besides, the hamper wasn't hers—but Mia was insistent she keep it all.

Lorelai had donated some of the clothes anyway, even a few select ones that were clearly Rory's size and not hers. She had still kept the hamper, but at least it wasn't some fancy ceramic contraption placed at the end of a chute from a non-descript door in her room. It currently bore the fruit of Rory's finger-painting labors and Lorelai's own attempts to draw things like the sun, flowers, grass, and stars.

Still, with not much money and little to their name, Lorelai had carefully been saving in between Rory's growth spurts, doctor's visits, and school registration fees. God, she felt _old_ , knowing that Rory would be starting kindergarten that year.

Rory, predictably enough (seeing as she was already reading and reciting and asking for harder books) was terribly excited in the way only a little one could be, insisting that she had heard from Mr. Doose that the teachers wanted to meet _all_ the parents and they had to be there _extra_ early.

Lorelai still didn't know if she believed her or not, but there wasn't much she denied Rory. From the moment she had arrived in Stars Hollow to the moment she sagged with a sobbing, aching cry of relief that they had a home, she had promised both herself and her daughter that she wasn't going to have the same relationship that she had with _her_ mother.

The thought of her parents made her heart thud in her throat and her stomach drop to her toes. She hadn't thought much of them in the last five years since leaving, but when it hit her, it was like a sucker punch to the gut.

And while she would rather not know what that felt like, Lorelai, rather lucklessly, did know after an ill-fated attempt to try to diffuse a fight between a bride and her maid-of-honor after it came out that the maid-of-honor had slept with the groom. Lorelai had tried anyway, to break them apart as the men of both families got involved, and the bride (what a right-punch _that_ was) had landed a solid hit to Lorelai's gut that had kept her from eating for at least two days.

Which in Lorelai's book was fine since it meant Rory had more anyway.

In any case, as Lorelai tangled her fingers through Rory's brownish-auburn hair, she didn't think of her parents often. Well, not her mother anyway. She felt as if she had removed a burden from her father—she had taken the embarrassment away, had solved the problem for him. She hadn't received any letters yet, no postcards, nothing. While it wasn't surprising that she hadn't heard from them, she was surprised that she hadn't heard from someone simply trying to find her for them.

Lorelai sleepily swept Rory into her arms, grunting under the weight. Rory was getting too big to hold like this, and it was bittersweet, because the day was coming that she wouldn't be able to pick her up again.

Rory nuzzled her neck. "Love you, mommy," she murmured.

"Love you too, kiddo," Lorelai responded, lying her down on their little bed and pulling the shoes and socks off of both of them.

Her mother's sharp stare made her heart ache as she pushed Rory's unruly hair from her face, the constant judgment and correction, the "little white lies" that Emily always told for her own good. Still, there were good moments too, like the pride in Emily's eyes when Lorelai brought home the best grades of her class, was the prettiest of her cotillion group, had obviously caught and intended to keep Christopher's heart.

There even seemed to be a surge of approval when Lorelai had applied not only to Vassar and Mount Holyoke, but also Yale as well with a curved, shy smile at her father. Naturally, she never really found out if she was accepted or not; she hadn't bothered with mail and Emily hadn't seen a reason to tell her if anything had arrived. It would have been moot anyway.

Lorelai shook her head, getting Rory tucked into pajamas and then herself as well. The happy moments were outweighed by the negative ones, and she wouldn't—couldn't—let herself forget that.

But maybe…

She bit her lip, tugging Rory close. Maybe they could visit for Christmas or Easter next year. She didn't expect it to go well, but at least then they couldn't say she never reached out.

XXXXX

 _1997_

Lorelai chewed the inside of her cheek out of sheer anxiety. It didn't matter really that they had been coming to Christmas and Easter dinners since Rory was seven, she still felt the same as always when approaching the big, oppressive front of her childhood home.

It felt like being sent to the tower green, only to find that one had no clue just how long it would be before their neck was on the block.

Rory bounced beside of her, thirteen and full of energy, and wearing a muted, silver dress with a scoop neck that Lorelai had made herself. She seemed to recognize her mother's restless fidgeting, and cocked a stare at her that Lorelai was certain she had gotten from Chris.

"Mom," she emphasized. "It's gonna be fine. Grandma and Grandpa will run the same conversation, just like always."

Lorelai resisted the urge to snort in derision for Rory's sake. Richard and Emily had been nothing but civilized and adoring over their granddaughter since Lorelai had been bringing her around, but she was grateful that Rory wasn't old enough yet to catch onto the subtle passive-aggression her parents tended to shower Lorelai with.

Rory practically jumped in realization. "Besides, Grandma said last week that maybe _Dad_ will be here this time."

"Oh, hon…" Lorelai trailed off. Chris had been in and out, more the latter than the former, since she had escaped to Stars Hollow. She made a somewhat decent effort to make sure that Rory's memories of him remained fond and affectionate—she had never wanted to be one of those women who eviscerated the ex. It was hard though, especially when Chris promised or meant to be somewhere for Rory, and then…just wasn't.

Lorelai blew her hair out of her eyes. She was glad she had worn it curly tonight; it would drive her mother up the wall.

Rory rolled her eyes at her, completely unaware that Lorelai hadn't really responded to the idea of Chris being there. "I'm knocking, because otherwise, we'll never get in, and then you won't get the apple tarts that Grandma always makes for Christmas dinner."

Lorelai had to stop herself from preventing Rory's sharp knocks on the door. Music drifted behind the entrance, something Christmas-time and light. She grimaced and wondered how much trouble she might get into for slipping a Trans-Siberian Orchestra CD into the mix.

The door opened, another faceless maid ushering them in.

Lorelai went through the motions. It went pretty much exactly as she had expected and Rory had predicted—her parents made the same, stupid small-talk with her that they always did, showered Rory with affection, and Chris wasn't there.

A perfect Christmas Eve.

Her only bright spot in the evening was seeing the utter defiance on Richard's face when Rory proudly claimed she was going to Harvard one day. She could have hidden her amusement until Emily choked on her drink at the same time, and Lorelai couldn't resist the snorting sort of laugh that exploded from her nose.

The glares from her parents were totally worth it.

XXXXX

 _2009_

It was a rare moment, really—yet another Christmas party, though this time, Lorelai hadn't felt obligated to go; she actually _wanted_ to. Also rare was that Rory had the time to attend, though she came alone and wasn't Emily practically frothing at the _mouth_ about _that_.

Luke stood quietly behind her, a warm hand on the small of her back and another gripping a glass of beer. She had no doubt that it was some high-end microbrew that Luke hated, but put up with because it was better than going for the liquor. Naturally, Lorelai would never repeat her first advice when it came to the Gilmores—beer is dandy but liquor was quicker.

Still, he was _there_ and _solid_ and _real_ , and it was so much better than anything she could have hoped for. She leaned against his chest just to feel him there, catching Rory's eye through the crowd.

Rory smiled at her, brilliant and beautiful, her bangs a little too long, and looking radiant in a vividly blue cocktail dress that matched her eyes.

Lorelai had a feeling the dress was a gift; Rory didn't move in as familiarly as her other clothes.

Another rare surprise had been the addition of Christopher and Gigi. Chris had seemed to carefully avoid her in such a way that it didn't come off as intentional, but in a fashion that Lorelai appreciated. It wasn't the time—but then again, with them, it never had been.

Gigi, however, seemed to have no such compunction.

"Aunt Lor!" Gigi crowed happily, making a beeline for her once she recognized her. She shifted her stare up to Luke. "Waffles?"

Lorelai laughed, ignoring Luke's exasperated grunt. "Close enough, kiddo. How's things?"

Gigi proceeded to spew out the entirety of her time in third grade so far.

Lorelai nodded calmly, smiling in the right places and replying the correct things. When Gigi seemed to have exhausted herself of all new information, Lorelai tugged one of Gigi's blonde pigtails affectionately. "I think your dad's missing you."

Gigi rolled her eyes—they were a bluish-green-brown color, somehow mixing between Chris's hazel and Sherrie's brown. "He's _always_ missing me—he says he's gotta make up for lost time before I go with Mom next year."

Lorelai blinked. "Next year?"

Gigi nodded reluctantly, sparing a fond glance to her father. "Yeah. Dad said something about their divorce or whatever…I have to go to school in France next year." She shrugged her shoulders. "I guess it'll be cool to be around Mom though."

Lorelai wished she didn't feel her heart break a little bit. She lay a warm hand on Gigi's shoulder. "There's always e-mail and phone calls though. I bet you'll have a great time."

Gigi glanced back over to her father, where he was talking in an animated fashion to Rory. She sighed a bit glumly, thoughts spreading over her face that went unvoiced. "Well…Merry Christmas, Aunt Lore." She looked at Luke again. "You too, Waffles." She bounced off back to join her father.

Luke's hand twitched over the small of Lorelai's back. "She's just going to call me Waffles, isn't she?"

Lorelai smiled, wishing she didn't recognize the look of abandonment and misunderstanding on Gigi's face. "Yeah, I bet she is, Waffles. You'll grow to like it; she's a good kid."

"Sending her off to a boarding school," Luke muttered. "Can't be bothered."

Lorelai whapped his arm sharply. "You don't know the whole story there; ass out."

Emily gave a heaving, dramatic sigh. " _Really_ , Lorelai; the language!"

Lorelai couldn't win for losing sometimes. However, after visiting with Rory, after dinner, after catching up with her parents (in a much warmer way than normal), after _all_ of it—

Gigi looked surprised when Lorelai dragged her upstairs to her childhood bedroom. "But—"

Lorelai shushed her with a conspiratorial look. "Now, listen up, Geege. I thought with you going off to France next year, I'd take the time to tell you just how _awesome_ Paris is."

Gigi rolled her eyes. "I _know_ ; I kind of remember going with you and Dad."

"Yeah, but your mom's been living there for a while, so she's used to it and stuff. And I know sometimes, there's things you can't always talk about with a guy, let alone your dad."

"Yeah?" Gigi asked suspiciously as her eyes shifted. "I tell Dad _everything_."

Lorelai shrugged as if this were unimportant. "Well, that's cool. But if you ever want to talk about something, you give me a call, 24/7. I don't care if it's eleven in the morning for you and five in the morning for me. You call me, okay?"

Gigi moved restlessly. "Any time, huh?"

"Any time," Lorelai repeated. "I can tell you funny stories about your dad."

"Oh yeah? Tell me one now," Gigi responded defiantly.

Steering the teenager back to the stairs, Lorelai laughed heartily. "Okay, so, one time, when he was _your_ age…"

Much later, when Luke and Lorelai lay in bed, ready to sleep and curled around each other, he asked.

"So, what was that with Gigi?"

Lorelai snuffled into his neck affectionately. "Girls need all the help they can get. I was a girl once too, just like April was, just like Rory was, just like Gigi is."

"So you're going to save all the girls," Luke murmured in amusement.

"We gotta help each other," Lorelai said, the same warmth of humor in her voice. "I let Paris call me 24/7, and I did the same for April and Rory. Gigi should get it too."

Luke nodded, pulling Lorelai closer to him and tangling his fingers into her dark hair. "So, more like you're corrupting all the girls, one girl at a time."

Lorelai shrugged and hunkered down in the safe circle of Luke's arms. "Introducing them to the Go-Go's, sure. Belinda is all the friend we need."

Luke snorted quietly. "By the way, we're invited to the twins' birthday party."

Lorelai groaned but acquiesced. "That's going to be fun."

"It's gonna be a shitstorm," Luke muttered, his voice slurred and marred by being half-asleep. "Twin four-year-olds?"

"It'll be _fun_ ," Lorelai insisted, and let herself drift into sleep with the aid of a full stomach, Luke's muffled snoring, and the warmth of Christmas snowfall outside.

XXXXX

 _2011_

At the twins' sixth birthday party, Lorelai sat down with Lane on the porch swing as several children decided Luke would be an amazing climbing pole.

"He _hates_ that," Lane laughed, her fingers twisting restlessly in her lap.

Lorelai knew it was partly due to Lane's incessant need to drum. "Oh, I don't think he minds as much as he says." She leaned back, rocking her heels to jostle the swing a bit. "Lane…"

Lane turned with a questioning stare. "Lorelai?"

She bit her lip. "When did you first start hiding things from your mom?"

The shrug was meant to be casual; it was anything but. "I don't know. Probably around the time I was six and she told me the cookie monster was the devil and that any music other than church music was representative of various factions—Nazism, Fascism, Communism—if I listened to something else, then it meant I was all for stringing people up, Mussolini-style." She smiled fondly in memory. "But then you took me home from school one day, and the Go-Go's was on the radio, and you and Rory sang _along_ , and nothing _bad_ happened."

"I miss that tape," Lorelai replied with a remembering smile on her own face. "I never did find out what happened to it; I figured Rory took it."

Lane smiled sheepishly. "I took it. I took it and played it until it unwound."

"You lying thief; I looked for it _forever_ ," Lorelai retorted, but there was more mirth than accusation in her voice.

"Well, what about you?" Lane asked carefully. "When did you start hiding things from your parents?"

Lorelai shrugged. "I don't know. I think it started when I wanted a dog, and instead of just saying no, my mom told me I was allergic, but I went to my friend's house the next day—I think it was Cassidy Lowenstein—and I played with their dog, no problem. I asked her again, and she simply said I was allergic."

Lane nodded. "Gets you with a lie that's believable but not something she thinks you're going to check. Been there—my mom once told me my ears would bleed if I turned any music up above a whisper."

Lorelai didn't reply. She leaned back on the swing again, draping a motherly, casual arm over Lane's shoulder. She was stupidly pleased when Lane grinned again and leaned into the touch.

XXXXX

 _~2003_

Lorelai had long accepted that she would never have the same relationship with her mother that Rory had with her. Contrary to Emily's staunch belief, Lorelai wasn't completely unaware of the brief hurt that crossed over her mother or father's faces when they found something out secondhand.

She wasn't sure when it had started—the deeply seated need to keep everything about her life separate from her parents. She only knew that whatever happened in Stars Hollow, her romantic life, _anything_ —her parents weren't privy to it, and Lorelai preferred it that way, to the point of being outright stubborn.

Rory had tried to talk sense into her numerous times. Lorelai listened, just like she always did, but Rory didn't know Richard and Emily the way she did.

However, Rory had a very good point, one that Rory often repeated—things would never change until someone took a step forward.

So, on Gigi's birthday (her literal _birth_ day), Lorelai bought a DVD player, scouted the racks mercilessly until she had found enough musicals, and headed back to her parents' house ( _not home_ , but she can't stop her brain from thinking that) with the childish hope that her mother would pick _Singin' in the Rain_ before any of the others.

Her mother stared at her as if she'd gone crazy; Lorelai carted the DVD player up the stairs and sang the opening lines of "Good Morning". "Easter Bonnet" was good, but she had always been partial to Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds.

Halfway through the musical, curled up on the couch with her mother, Lorelai sat up a bit and then leans back into Emily. "You know, Gene Kelly was horrible to work with on this one. He made Debbie Reynolds cry."

Emily made a soft, sort of snorting noise that she never would have made in public. "Well, she's a terrible dancer compared to him and Donald O'Connor; can you really blame him?"

Lorelai smiled and tilted her head toward her mother's chest in a rare show of affection. "Well, _really_ ," she responded.

Emily huffed, but didn't push Lorelai away.

XXXXXXXXXX

Author's Notes: Okay, so originally, I think this started as kind of an "apology" fic because I bastardized Lorelai so badly in "Just Give Me A Reason" when I promised myself, as a slash writer, that I would never do that to the canon love interest. I see people do it often enough with Chris, who, admittedly, I have a soft spot for.

Still, I'm really happy with how this turned out. I thought it would be a pain to write, but it just kind of…came out.

So, I hope you enjoyed. Be kind to the writer; apparently, according to my beta, I worry too much about reviews/comments XD

~Elise~


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